


Spare Room

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, Quickies, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'How about a quicky with Till and Reader at a party in some sort of back room?'Ofc! Coming right up.





	Spare Room

“-and…”

“Sweetheart,” comes a low rumble in your ear, and you turn your head, smiling up at your boyfriend. “Can we go somewhere quieter? Please?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say, quietly, and look over at the woman you’re talking to. “<Please, if you will excuse both of us for a moment…>” She nods, and Till puts his arm around you, guiding you away. You don’t know Schneider’s house that well - you’ve been here once or twice, but never upstairs, and Till appears to be guiding you in that direction right now. “Sweetie? Where are we going?”

He guides you into a dark room, and you wonder briefly if he’s planned something - but when he turns the light on, it’s just a spare room, and he clicks the door shut. You look around, and then sigh.

“Really?”

“Do you have a problem?” he asks, sounding thoroughly amused now, and you smile as he runs his hands up your curves from behind, kissing your neck - his goatee scratches your neck, and you purr a little as his hands cup your breasts through your sparkly dress. “I did not enjoy it down there anyway. There are too many people.” You turn around, and kiss him, running your fingers across the stubble on the sides of his head. “And you are so fuckable.”

“Okay. But we can’t be long,” you warn, and he rolls his eyes, before lifting you backwards onto the bed; he clambers on top of you and kisses your neck, sliding your dress up and kissing your exposed stomach. You’re so glad you wore your good underwear today. He kisses down between your thighs, and you wriggle as his stubble scratches you. “Oh, Till…”

Someone walks past the room and you tense; he doesn’t stop, and you moan quietly, clapping your hand over your mouth. They don’t stop, probably on their way to the bathroom, and you close your eyes, focusing as his tongue dances over you.

“Till,” you whisper, and he kisses your thigh, before biting at it; you capture a yelp before it leaves your mouth, and you can hear him snickering as he puts his mouth back to your clit. “Till, we have to be quiet…”

“Of course, of course.” He laps at you, and you wriggle, one hand toying with the sequins on your dress, one stroking down the stubble on his head and throat to his smooth neck. “You mean, _you_ have to be quiet.”

He flickers his tongue against your clit, and you have to bite the back of your own hand to stop yourself moaning his name; you are noisier at home (by popular, read: Till’s request) and this is working against you right now. You nearly crush his head with your thighs trying to hold him there to lick you in just the right spot, and he watches with those beautiful eyes as you whimper, grinding yourself against him for more friction.

“Till,” you moan quietly, and bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut so hard it hurts.

You whimper quietly, trying not to make a noise as your orgasm builds, and grip onto the pillows. One of your heels has come off as you shift positions, and you dig your bare foot into the duvet, your toes curling inside the other stiletto. You aren’t sure if it’s the need to be quiet that intensifies the orgasm, but it hits you like a freight train, and you arch up against him, gritting your teeth until they grind together to stop yourself from moaning his name, and he wastes no time after you collapse back, flipping you over. You push yourself up on shaky legs, and hear his suit pants being undone, and then a condom packet being opened.

“Romance isn’t dead,” you mutter, and he leans forward; you feel him press himself against you as he whispers in your ear.

“You said we have to be fast. We can be romantic when we go downstairs again.” He pushes himself inside you, and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. You are so sensitive that it almost hurts with pleasure, and he fucks you hard and fast. Christoph must oil the beds, you think in wonderment, if this was in Till’s flat you’d be heard as far as the outskirts of the city. He is quiet, aside from the deepest, throatiest rumbles of contained moans, and you grind back onto him, making him huff air out of his nose wolfishly; it isn’t long before he grips your hips and pulls you back onto him, dipping his head and biting your shoulder to stop himself from giving the game away. He nearly flattens you in doing so, and pushes himself up, sliding the condom off.

“Please, tell me you aren’t going to put that in the bin in here and hope Christoph finds it,” you say, and he shrugs.

“I was planning to, but that’s a no.” He finds a tissue in his pocket. “I will dispose of it in the bathroom…”

 _Knock-knock_.

You pull your underwear up, and Till swears quietly, zipping himself back up.

“Just in time,” he says, quietly, and makes his way to the door, pulling it open as you stand up. Christoph folds his arms, a very Frau-Schneider-esque expression on his face, and Paul laughs from behind him.

“<I knew we’d find you in here!>”

You flush bright red, and put your hands up.

“In my defense, I was escorted here by a much larger person than I am,” you say, and Till shrugs.

“<In my defence? Sorry, not sorry.>” He winks at Christoph, who glares at the two of you a little more, and you grab your heel and hold your hand up.

“ _Did you wear your shoes on my spare bed?!_ ”


End file.
